BSD - Bumped from the fanposts, here's a special Christmas present from our friend skarocksoi.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Columbus,

Not a creature was stirring, as knocked cold was Brutus;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that the boosters would all soon be there;

The Buckeyes were nestled, all snug in their beds,

While visions of new 'vettes danced in their heads;

And Pryor in his eye black, and Tress in his vest,

Had just settled down for a long winter's rest,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

T sprang from his bed to see what was the matter;

Away to the window he flew like a flash,

As he runs a 4.33 in the 40 yard dash;

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer;

With an odd little driver, with tatts so intricate,

He knew in a moment it must be St. Clarett;

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now Rainey!  Now Quinn!  Now Little and Austin!

On Bryant!  On Green!  On Posey and Herron!

To the top of the porch!  To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away!  Dash away all!"

So up the the house-top the reindeer all flew,

With a sleigh full of Grey Goose, and St. Clarett too;

Faster than his pro career crashed to the ground,

Down the chimney St. Clarett came with a bound;

He was dressed all in Kevlar, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with prison soot;

A bundle of AK's he had flung on his back,

He looked like a guerilla just opening his pack;

His eyes--how they twinkled!  His guns, how scary!

From the vodka his cheeks were as red as a cherry!

A stern little scowl streched across his face,

Probably from the combo of Tazer and Mace;

The stump of a blunt he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That comes with 3 to 5 in a state prison cell-y;

He was chubby and plump, that surley Buckeye,

And you'd laugh if you saw him, even though he robbed a guy;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Would fill any man with a feeling of dread;

He spoke not a word, but let Terrelle do the talking,

As elite gifts and cash he put in each stocking,

To each little Buckeye he gave something great,

As 9 times out of 10, his gifts dominate;

And laying his .45 aside his nose,

And giving a nod, he fell out the window,

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle;

But I heard him exclaim, as he fled from the cops,

"Merry Christmas, Buckeyes!  But dear God, don't get caught!"